After The Rain
by momoxtoshiro
Summary: Roman knows everything there is to know about everyone in Vale. He knows who works where, how they get to their jobs and back, if they have kids or a spouse or a cat or a dog. He knows easy targets and easy traps. He knows fellow thieves and innocent school kids. The only thing he doesn't know - the only person he has yet to figure out - is somewhere in between.
1. Acute Observation

**A commission for Tom (ChuckleBrotherz) who asked for a Roman and Neo fic based off an amazing piece of artwork from Dishwasher which can be seen on their twitter at this link:**

 **twitter,com/Dishwasher1910/status/969049936774955008**

 **Let me just say I loved writing this, not just for the change in characters and the plot/idea, but for the method of writing I get to use to tell this story. It's not often I get to write from a male character's perspective, let alone a villain, so this was a lot of fun.**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own RWBY.**

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After The Rain

Chapter 1. Acute Observation

Any good conman knows about his city.

He knows every little detail, knows the map and layout like the back of his hand, knows the types of buildings and the types of people who live in or frequent each one.

He knows his city in a structural sense, knows the popular shops and complexes, knows the main streets and tourist attractions.

But he also knows the less favorable spots, the abandoned warehouses and back alleyways that go unnoticed during the day by passerby, but which make ideal hideouts and conference places for illegal activity by night.

He knows the most popular routes the authorities favor, and because of this he knows the best ways to escape. He knows every nook and cranny, every movable wall and secret passageway, every loose brick and firm foothold.

He knows the best places to stash contraband and the best places to conceal himself or his men if need be. He knows the routes of every manhole in the city, the links of the underground passageways by rank wet sewer.

He knows which fences will rattle and which ones will shock, which ones you can hop and which ones you'll get snagged on. He knows every dumpster, every trash can, every barrel and every bucket.

He knows the language smeared in runny rainbow graffiti on the brick walls, on metal street signs, and on dented vehicles.

He knows how many gangs there are. He knows their names, their codes, and their levels of severity. He knows which ones to work with in exchange for a bit of stolen Dust, and he knows which ones to avoid.

As a conman, he knows his city. But more importantly he knows its people. Because a conman who doesn't know his city's people is about as good as a teacher who doesn't know the alphabet.

That's the biggest mistake most crooks around Vale make. That they don't do their _research_ first. They just go right into the crime because they think they're hot stuff, think they can get away with it.

They rob the old lady because they think she's frail and weak, but they don't know about the pair of Dobermans she has until they're trapped inside the house with a bag of stolen jewelry and jaws clamped on their ankles.

If they'd done their research, they would've known that the businessman down the block would have been a much better target, because his door knob never locks and he's been meaning to get it fixed, but he works such long hours of the night that he always forgets when he stumbles home shit-faced and red-eyed. He has a few watches that are worth more than the old lady's entire collection, and any good criminal would know that if they simply did their research.

But Roman isn't the type to steal from weak, lonely, or otherwise just plain sad human beings or Faunus. At the very least he doesn't rob houses if he can avoid it. He targets the shops and the parlors for all to see, robs them in plain sight like a gentleman. None of that sneaking around and invading personal property. There's no tact in that, no honor.

Roman takes pride in his work and how he does it, and he's getting better and better with every heist. All because he did his research. Because he _knows_ his city and its people.

He knows everything there is to know about everyone. He knows who works where, how they get to their jobs and back, if they have kids or a spouse or a cat or a dog. He knows easy targets and easy traps. He knows fellow thieves and innocent school kids.

The only thing he doesn't know - the only person he has yet to figure out - is somewhere in between.

He'd first spotted her on one of his initial patrols of the city, when he'd first chosen Vale as his ideal hunting grounds. He'd come here to settle down and survey the place, get to know the ways and the works, the pests and the people.

And he'd seen her.

At first he'd thought she was just a school kid. She was a pint-sized little thing, but she had a mature face and sharp, clever eyes. And it was only when he managed to spot her a second and third time a little bit closer when he realized they were different colors, much like her long swirly hair. One eye was brown and the other was pink, just as her hair resembled a chocolate and strawberry mixed ice cream cone.

Had she been a bit older, a bit taller, and dressed a bit more nicely than the tattered rags he always saw her in, he might've been inclined to pursue her. But as he was – a professional crime boss with good looks and an agenda – and as she was – a pipsqueak kid with shit clothes and unusual eyes – he thought there was nothing to be gained from anything beyond observation.

But he just... couldn't help it. He was drawn to her somehow. He was mildly interested.

She wasn't like the others. Every other person in town had a set route, a certain path they took every day, be it by car or on foot.

But not her.

Whenever he needed to find any specific person, he knew exactly where to look.

But whenever he stumbled upon _her_ it was by surprise. He didn't like surprises. But he was somewhat curious about this one.

She would pop up here or there in her dirty white dress and bare feet, her long hair knotted and tangled.

And at first he really did think she was just a school kid down on her luck, with parents who had shit jobs and couldn't afford her nice clothes. But she never wore a backpack or carried a bag, and she never took the path to the local school district. She only appeared around the slums, in the alleyways.

That's how he figured out she was more like a thief. But even that term was a bit too specific and likely unfit for her.

He saw her steal, but she never stole... _enough_. Not enough to be noticed, not enough for it to be considered stealing. She only ever stole what she needed.

It was usually food. He'd see her picking restaurant leftovers from the top of the dumpster, the stuff that was still somewhat fresh and not as risky as the stuff underneath.

She'd take fresh food from the street vendors too. He'd see her pick off a single sausage from a string of twenty – just one, so it wouldn't be noticeable. Or she'd take a styrofoam cup and fill it with random goodies; a few french fries plucked from a bucket, a single leaf of lettuce from a salad, a few scones or croutons from an unattended batch. It was never enough to be noticed, but just enough to get by.

After he'd caught a few glimpses of her here or there, it got to the point where his mind would sometimes jump back to her while he was in the middle of his own meals.

Of course he shook them off. After all he didn't have time to worry about the hungry kids in the street. They had a government for that. He didn't run a charity.

So he'd always push the thoughts away and continue with his day, with whatever heist he was planning or whatever important mob boss he planned to meet with. Statistics said that crime was more popular in the colder months, but he damn well wasn't going to let his numbers drop just because summer was coming.

But all throughout the springtime he kept catching sight of that girl with the peculiar hair. He'd always stuck to the slums to conduct his own operations, but perhaps it was because of her that he chose his favorite district to hang about, though of course he would never admit it.

But some part of him was curious. She was, after all, the only person in Vale he didn't really have a grip on, the only person who puzzled and surprised him. Everyone else fell into their neat little cookie-cutter places, but she stood out from the batch and he couldn't quite give her a place yet.

Even after the springtime had passed and he'd gotten ample opportunity to try and figure her out, he was no closer to doing so than he had been on day one.

He had to wonder how she'd managed to survive this long doing what she did. If she was really that good at sneaking around, perhaps she could be of use to him.

He would consider it. In the very back of his mind, under the piles and piles of everything else he had to consider, perhaps underneath it all he would consider her.

But she couldn't be a priority, just a hobby.

He maintained focus on his trade, being tactful with who he robbed and when and where, making sure he was crafty and efficient in his retreat and never left a hint or a trail behind.

There was a certain pattern you had to follow when you planned on committing multiple crimes. The one-time offenders didn't have schedules, but the dedicated thieves needed to mark their calendars. He would act every other week or so for a while, just until the cops figured out his pattern, and then he'd attack several days in a row, or not at all for a month.

He never targeted the same shops. There was no fun in that anyway. Once you've robbed a shop the thrill of it's gone and it's better to move onto the next one.

He traveled all across Vale for his work, from the humble strip malls to the well-lit tourist attractions. No kind of setting was a risk to him. It just went to show how savvy he was in his trade.

But more often than not, he did find himself sticking to the slums, both because it was just an easier place to exploit and because there was something for him to do on his off days. Especially after he'd completed a robbery, he was often forced to lay low for a few days.

And so he'd stroll around town and smoke a cigar, gathering intel about the police and what their thoughts and misgivings were about the recent crime. He'd read the papers about the "Ever-Elusive Crook" terrorizing Vale and pretend to be aghast.

He'd continue studying his people, his poor unknowing fools, and he'd continue to make note of new developments around town.

It's essential for a conman to know that his favorite escape route is still clear, or if a certain alley has been blocked or closed off by fences or construction. It's all very meticulously cunning work, but he was made for it.

And every once in a while, when he had nothing left to note, he would go off in search of his newest specimen.

Sometimes he'd find her, but more often than not he wouldn't.

She was probably one of the only people he couldn't track. Just like him, she left no trail.

But the few instances when he did find her, be it intentionally or by accident (usually it was the latter), he was always intrigued.

She always wore the same tattered dress, which was so dirty few people could ever hope to know it had once been white. Her hair was still a beautiful mess, and her bare feet were as swift as ever.

He'd always keep his distance, like a hunter watching a strange new animal. He'd follow her as far as he could before her small frame was inevitably lost in the crowds or in the shadows.

He'd watch her steal a few pieces of food from this shop or that vendor. She never got caught even once. The few times she was just on the verge of being discovered, she somehow sensed it and would recoil and reconsider.

He liked that about her. She wasn't impulsive like some of these other idiots who would charge in thinking they wouldn't be tackled and pinned to the ground by the owner or some goody-two-shoes passerby. Those morons always let their stomachs get the better of them, and they always got caught.

But she was different. If she suspected even slightly that someone might be onto her, she would abstain, no matter how badly she was starving, no matter how long it had been since she'd last scavenged a crumb.

Because she seemed to know the number one rule of crime on the streets; never get caught. It didn't matter how hungry she was or how desperate. She wouldn't risk getting caught.

Because like him, she probably knew that once they were in the police station or behind bars it was all over.

Even though it didn't necessarily mean the cops would 'correct' their behavior, that wasn't the main concern. Being caught wasn't an issue in terms of imprisonment and punishment potentially transforming them into upstanding members of society.

It was so much worse.

Because being caught meant no one else in the crime business would ever work with you or trust your judgement again.

If you got caught, you lost all your business partners, all of your ties with the gangs and affiliations with the big guns, sometimes literally. You had no more loyalty amongst the muscleheads, no more protection, no more business.

And so in a way, maybe getting caught did turn some crime-men into upstanding members of society, but not by choice. Never by choice.

Only because their old pals in the streets wouldn't trust someone who'd been stupid enough to have gotten _caught_ as far as they could throw them. Though, that was how it worked in the big leagues anyway.

As for this girl, he had to wonder.

As far as he could gather, she was a solo player. Didn't have any partners or people to meet with, no one to trust her or resent her.

Maybe in her case it would be better if she did get caught, because the cops would be nice to a pretty little trick like that. They'd find her parents if she had any, decide if it would be best if she stay with them or move into foster care. They'd get her into school and give her a meal or two. And even if they did throw her in the slammer for some reason, at least she'd be fed and sheltered.

But seeing her out on the streets like she was always put a bad taste in Roman's mouth. He just didn't like something about it.

He could've cared less about the good-for-nothing drug addicts and the self-loathing prostitutes. Which quickly made him understand it wasn't her gender that bothered him, but her age.

She seemed far too young to be living this kind of life already.

But maybe her age _was_ her biggest issue. She wasn't young _enough_ where people would care to find her help. She looked old enough to be responsible, and a lot of them probably assumed she was a lady of the night, if they actually even noticed her at all.

In the end, she wasn't young enough for anyone to _care_. They'd care about a poverty-stricken child, but once someone was a teenager they were as good as an adult, and no one else felt they had to be bothered with caring.

He still couldn't quite put his finger on her exact age, only a general ballpark range.

But he knew one thing. He knew she was old or smart enough to be suspicious, to sense potential dangers.

Above all else she was observant. Just like him.

She paid attention to the people and places around her, knew when they might give her trouble, knew when to retreat so she could try again another day.

Of course some part of him always felt bad to watch her slip away with empty hands and an even emptier stomach.

But more often than not she'd get what she came for, no matter how menial the portion.

So yes, he had to admit that he admired her skill for observation.

But of course that meant she also took note of _him_ almost from the beginning.

Perhaps the first few times he glimpsed her she didn't notice, because he himself had barely taken notice.

But after the fifth or sixth time, she would begin to recognize the same tall figure leaning against the alley wall or hunched over on a nearby bench. He always wore a the same hat and the same coat and was typically surrounded by smoke.

So he wasn't surprised when she finally made eye contact with him one day.

Rather, it wasn't the fact that she'd made eye contact that surprised him, but the actual moment of contact itself.

He'd only been able to see her eyes from afar to know they were mis-matched, or he'd often hear a gasp from some random citizen who happened to look down and see her. So he'd known it was a peculiar gaze she had.

But seeing it properly for the first time, even if it was from across the street with people and cars passing between them, he found himself drawn in. Captivated.

Like an angler fish draws in prey with a pretty light, a deadly trap. And he let himself be pulled in by that intangible wavelength.

That was the first time he saw for himself the real reason why he had taken such an interest in her.

There was no fear in her eyes.

There was curiosity, wariness, for him at least. But there was no fear.

Not of him or of anything else.

Instead there was clarity. The knowledge of what she was doing, the knowledge that it was wrong, and the knowledge that one day she would be caught.

Maybe she didn't anticipate it, but she knew of that reality. And it seemed to him some part of her had already accepted it.

It only lasts for a second. Another car passes and he finds himself looking at a brick wall. He searches the crowds, knowing full-well he won't find her, and glad when he doesn't.

That's when he starts having second thoughts about her.

He had been toying with the idea of an apprentice, but he knows he can't have her now.

Because he's seen that kind of fool before. A person who has no fear in this line of work is a dangerous and stupid one, and he wants nothing to do with one.

And so he heaves a sigh and takes another puff of his cigar.

Then he gets to his feet and strolls off.

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 **A/N: Just a bit of a general setup to start things off. Next chapter we'll get into the real stuff.**

 **Please review!**


	2. Mandatory Inaction

**This chapter and the next are going to be the main story, though there will be a few other chapters to follow!**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own RWBY.**

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Chapter 2. Mandatory Inaction

Several weeks went by as Roman continued his daily business, scamming and robbing when he could and laying low when he had to. And in between he would scour the town for his entertainment.

He was getting better at finding her, or perhaps it was just coincidence, but he caught sight of her a bit more often than he did initially. She still stuck mainly to stealing food, though on one occasion he did spot her scuttling out of a thrift store with a bundle of fabric under he arm.

Like him, she was spontaneous and meticulous at the same time. She never targeted the same shop or stand twice within a short period of time, and would often appear across town elsewhere the day after simply so she didn't linger in one place for too long.

Whenever he spotted her, he would make an effort to follow her and remain undetected. Sometimes he'd get to observe her skills until she'd completed a theft and disappeared seemingly into thin air. And sometimes he'd lose her long before that.

He was still trying to figure out how someone as keen and perceptive as himself could possibly lose a target. It wasn't just her size or her skill, but something more.

He could have sworn that he recalled her left eye being the pink one and the right being brown, but every now and again when he glimpsed them, they appeared to have switched.

The girl was shrouded in mystery and illusion, there one second and gone in the blink of an eye. But he found her when he could, and when he found her, he observed.

And he could tell that the skill she'd perfected wasn't simply luck due to any lapse in perception on the part of the onlookers. He could only assume that was attributed to her semblance somehow, but she wasn't relying solely on that.

She only used it to get out of a pinch, when she already had the food in her hands and it was too late to retreat without touching it. The few times she was about to get caught, something always happened to make the storeowner or tattle-tail observant look the other way, or blink just long enough for her to slip away.

But those instances were few and far between, because she rarely ever got apprehended or anything close to it.

Even so, the smoothness of her craft wasn't solely because of illusion or anything of the sort. It was because the skill of deception was innate to her. She'd been practicing and perfecting it her entire life. She knew exactly when to move and how to move, how to keep herself just around the corner of everyone's eye, how to hide in the shadows and how to use her size to her advantage.

Her skill was unlike any he'd ever seen before, and he had to admit he was still interested. Even though he'd told himself he would not pursue her after he'd discovered the lack of fear in her eyes. She was simply too alluring. He wanted to know why she did what she did, why she didn't have any fear of it.

Of course he had to be careful as well. Not only did he need to take care not to be recognized by the commonfolk around town, but he needed to make absolutely certain to keep out of sight of the girl. They'd already made eye contact once, and he was certain she'd noticed him lurking a few more times than that. He needed to tread lightly, lest his constant presence spook her and drive her even further into the recesses of the city's core where even he might never be able to find her again.

He made her the center of his recreation, the hobby to enjoy when he was officially off-duty in other departments. Though he didn't know exactly where she retreated to at night, he knew which parts of town to find her in more frequently than others.

He saw a bit more of her as the weeks progressed. The summer heat was beginning to draw her out more in search of half-empty water bottles abandoned on park benches.

And it was rare that she change clothes, but it did happen. Once he saw her in a pale sand-colored dress, and another time it was sea-gray. Black clearly would have been her best option, but with the way the color attracted the sun she probably couldn't afford to risk overheating.

Before long she was back to white again, and that white was quickly stained by the city. But that ended up being the best camouflage of all.

Roman continued to look for her when he could, taking note of the places she'd stolen from and trying to predict where she might go next. Sometimes he was correct, but more often than not she surprised him.

It wasn't long before he realized there was only one place in all of Vale she had yet to target. A little ice cream shop squished between a thrift store and a studio that sold paintings was the only food place in Vale she had yet to exploit.

And he wondered when it would be, because with the summer haze coming in strong nowadays, it would be child's play for her to slip inside along with a sweaty lunchtime crowd to pluck a wrapped ice pop from the display case and slink back out.

He became so invested in her activities he even began betting with himself when and how she would rob her final ice cream store. Whenever he was in the area he kept an eye out for her as well, because he didn't want to miss observing her if he could help it.

The shop had large colorful posters of their ice cream flavors hanging in each window, chocolates and vanillas and fruit flavors and swirls, icings and whipped creams and cherries and sprinkles, smoothies and milkshakes and cones and ice pops. From a business standpoint, he gave them credit, especially now that summer was rolling in and no one in their right mind could pass up an enticing place like that to beat the heat.

One day he caught his little trick staring incredulously up at the poster of Neapolitan ice cream with its brown pink and white color scheme. She was only there for a second, before a family with two squealing children passed by and she scuttled away like a roach from sunlight.

She didn't steal from the shop that day, or the day after, but she continued to target the little food stands and convenience stores for half a croissant or a bag of chips.

But it was then she began to do something Roman hadn't ever seen her do before.

She began scavenging for lost change.

Of course in the past if she happened to spot a lonely coin on the sidewalk she would snatch it up, but now she actively started hunting for them.

She wasn't confident enough to steal money from shops, nor did she have the resources, so she dedicated herself to finding loose change.

In between her daily food stealings now, he often glimpsed her scooping low to grab a shiny circle. Knowing he wouldn't be able to leave her alone, Roman decided to join her game, if only to speed up her plan to see what she would do with the money whenever she'd determined she had enough.

So one day he placed himself along a sidewalk bustling with people, knowing that the large crowd would provide ample opportunity for lost treasures and draw her in. He let a large coin slip out of his pocket, one that was worth one fourth of a single lien bill. It was a strategic move on his part, as he made sure no one else would notice the motion of it falling and grab it before she could come along. He made his way to a bench and sat down within eyesight of the coin.

Then he waited.

His hat protected him from the beating sunlight, though he refused to remove the trench coat, which always earned him puzzled glances. He lit a cigar and opened a newspaper in his lap as cover, though he always kept one eye on his coin.

And it took her some time, but eventually he spotted that flash of brown and pink and white as she darted out during a break in the crowds. She went to grab the coin he'd dropped with such excitement that she scraped off one of her nails on the cement in the process, but she didn't even flinch. She simply clutched the coin tightly to her chest and hurried off back into the alley from whence she'd come.

He still didn't know why she suddenly had an interest in gathering money when he hadn't noticed her doing it in earlier weeks. He had to wonder what had come up, what she needed it for, why she was suddenly deciding to collect it now rather than continue stealing.

He doubted she thought she could gather enough coins to surmount to an amount significant enough to start turning her life around out of the blue, so the only other option he could think of was a ticket. Fair for a bus, an air ship, a train, something to get out of this town and into a new one.

But part of him also denied that could be the case. No thief as good as she was would be dumb enough to abandon the territory most familiar to them. Starting off somewhere new was dangerous this late in the game. It would be better for her to stay where she knew the escape routes and the terrain.

Of course he had no say in the matter and no idea what she was planning, but either way he couldn't deny he was actively trying to play a part in her life now. Whatever her intentions were, his little coin was going to help make it a reality.

So for the remainder of the sweltering summer week, he caught sight of her stealing food and picking up coins from his peripheral vision.

It was on the hottest day so far, one so hot that even he needed to remove his hat and unbutton his trench coat, that he discovered exactly what it was she'd been intending to do with the money.

Roman had taken a seat in a park gazebo for some shade, idly fanning himself with a newspaper and cursing the sun as he ran a hand back through his orange hair. Around him the park was full of children having water gun fights and running through sprinklers laughing. He couldn't help but envision his charge doing the same, wearing clean clothes, having fun, smiling...

As he let his gaze wander, it naturally drifted across the street to the ice cream shop with the posters. The line was out the door and halfway around the block, since it was the only joint this side of town selling the stuff.

Roman only stayed where he was for as long as he did to avoid moving back out into the direct sunlight, but in the end he was almost glad for his inactivity. Almost.

Because once the lunchtime crowd died down across the street, he noticed one of the shadows moving.

The girl with her alley-colored dress and her unkempt hair crept out into the light like a cat, constantly cautious and wary. Even from this distance he could tell she was looking down into her palm. He quickly realized she was looking at the coins she'd gathered over the past several days.

As he watched her rush in through the open door and into the empty ice cream shop, he understood.

Every crook, even he, had at least one establishment in their target town they would rather buy than steal from. Be it because the owner was a decent person, or because the product being sold was something important to them, or for another reason.

For Roman, if he ever dared to buy instead of rob, he'd do it from the cigar shop, because their rolls were genuine.

And for her, it seemed she wanted to have her legitimate purchase be a simple ice cream cone.

Roman leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he peered across the street to observe. He could just barely see her hurry her way up to the counter where the shop owner, the only other person in the place, stared down at her.

He was a typical-looking guy, one Roman assumed would gladly give a scoop or two to a kid down on their luck, possibly even for free.

But he knew better than anyone that human beings - and most of the Faunus too - were all good-for-nothing pieces of shit.

The man behind the counter who had been smiling and serving customers all day long suddenly recoiled at the sight of the girl standing before him now. He grit his teeth and uttered what Roman could only assume to be a warning.

The girl quickly reached out and placed her money on the counter, moving her hands in sharp gesticulations. Roman couldn't interpret what she was saying, but he could see the man clearly. He leaned down over the counter and got in her face, no doubt growling at her to get lost.

But the girl persisted, pushing the coins closer to him before turning around to point at the poster in the window, the one of Neapolitan ice cream.

Roman knew she was getting anxious. She wanted to get in and get out before more people could show up, and every second she lingered there unnecessarily was another second someone could walk in and call the authorities on a street rat.

Roman watched with clenched fists and a tight jaw as the man picked up the coins from the counter and made a fist around them. He slowly made his way around the counter to the girl's side, towering a good three feet above her.

Roman tensed. Part of him wanted to believe the owner was going to cave and go fetch her an ice cream. But a bigger, darker, and much more realistic part of him knew it could never be that simple.

He watched from his safe spot as the shop keeper grabbed the girl by the collar of her dirty dress, which was likely the main reason he'd denied her patronage. It was such a fast and unexpected movement the girl had no time to blink, no time to play her little illusion tricks to make a narrow escape.

Roman stood up immediately, putting his hat back on and preparing to go across the street himself. He didn't mind violence amongst drunkards or between unfaithful spouses or angry mob bosses. But against a poor kid who was legitimately trying to pay for some ice cream? Unforgivable.

He watched as the man all but lifted the girl off her bare feet and brought her to the door. She was struggling, hands clawing at his arm to no avail, legs kicking weakly.

Roman was appalled that no one else seemed to be watching, that no one else was noticing this. Had he been an upstanding citizen himself instead of a crime boss, he would have spoken up and acted immediately. But some part of him was a coward too, and he knew there was nothing he could do.

So he watched as the man threw the poor girl out of the shop, following her with a loud curse. Her back slammed the cement sidewalk in a sickening display. She hit her head and curled up like a withering flower.

Roman could hear the man yelling even past the general din of the city.

"And don't you ever show your gritty little face around here again or I'm callin' the cops! Beat it!" He finished by hurling all of her hard-found coins down into her face, then whipped around and kicked the stand to the shop's door so it would close on her.

The ruckus had finally gained the attention of some passerby who paused to stare. As Roman rushed across the street in an effort to get to the girl, he heard the murmurings.

"That man just threw her out?"

"Of course he did. Look at her! She was probably trying to steal from him."

"She's a thief. Disgusting."

Roman grit his teeth around his cigar and reached up to pull it away from his mouth. He could barely see the girl anymore past the people going by, but he was able to glimpse her pushing herself up to her knees. She was holding her head and her side, her eyes wide with something he'd originally thought she wasn't capable of.

But he saw it in her now. Fear.

He could tell she was about to bolt.

He wanted to call out to her, tell her to stay put, but he realized that anyone shouting those things at her now would only make her run all the quicker.

And even though he didn't say anything to her, by the time he reached the ice cream shop she was gone. The only things left to indicate she'd even been there at all were the scattered coins.

But worst of all, he could make out streaks of red on the sidewalk, droplets that trailed off toward the alley and then disappeared.

And this time he was going to go after her. He was going to talk to her.

But before he'd taken even two steps to follow her, his pager went off. With a curse he answered, grunting confirmation to his business partner that he was heading to the designated place for their trade.

He hung up with a sigh, glancing back down into the deserted alley. He didn't know if she was still there or if she was long gone by now, but nonetheless he cleared his throat and called out the first words ever meant for her.

"I'll come back tomorrow. I promise."

Because he knew she'd seen him observing her.

Because he wanted to believe she knew he was on her side.

He waited for a moment, almost as if he expected some kind of response.

But there was nothing, only the eerie daytime silence of a sketchy alleyway. His pager buzzed again and he snorted.

As he turned away he dropped his cigar, still steaming, on the doorstep of the ice cream shop and spat on it.

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 **A/N: It's so odd for me to see only one line of dialogue in an entire chapter of mine. But I think it works well in this case, no?**

 **Please review!**


	3. Braving The Storm

**I really appreciate the support my readers are giving me on this story! It was very fun for me to write so I'm glad you're enjoying so far! This chapter will finally get into detail about their encounters, as you'll see!**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own RWBY.**

* * *

Chapter 3. Braving The Storm

He might've been a thief and a criminal and a million other things, but if there was one thing to his credibility, it was that he was a man of his word. He'd made a promise and even though the recipient hadn't heard him say it, he was determined to see it through, if only for himself.

He ended up at the same ice cream shop the next day, though just the sight of the place and the man inside made his nose curl.

Roman took shelter from the sun and the crowds in the alleyway he'd seen the girl slink away into, crossing his arms and leaning back against the brick wall to light a smoke. He watched the crowds of families as they lined up at the shop to combat the heat, laughing children and smiling parents.

It made him groan. He hoped he'd robbed at least a few of them at some point in his career.

He waited like a jackal in the shadows, observing the unsuspecting cattle as they meandered in and out without a care. But it wasn't them he was looking for. They were just something to watch.

He checked the alleyway over and over, hoping for a shifting shadow, a small sound of bare footsteps over concrete. But there was nothing for hours, only a stray scraggley cat.

But for once he had nowhere to be, and he was determined to find his charge again. Surely in this heat she'd return to take what was rightfully hers, even if it meant tossing the money to the wind and straight-up stealing like she always did.

He was really looking forward to that.

If she did end up going for it, he was resolved to help her.

But there was no sign of her, not in the morning, not at noon, and not in the evening. All day he waited and he never spotted her. And he'd been _looking,_ so he knew she hadn't simply slipped under his radar.

By sunset the shop was closed, and he'd accomplished nothing other than finishing too many cigars to count. He left his last one at the entrance of the shop again and retreated for the night.

* * *

He visited again the next day, and the day after that, searching for her.

Lines of people entered and left the shop, and it was kind of pissing him off to see this lout getting so much business.

So at one point Roman shifted his vigil a little closer to the door where people could see him clearly. He glared at them all, blowing smoke at the children and snarling at the elders. In this manner he successfully frightened off half the patrons and cut the shop's proceeds nicely.

But even that only gave him a certain amount of satisfaction.

He didn't see the girl again, not even in the days after when he left the shop and began searching all around Vale once more. He knew her tactics by now, where she tended to be at which general ballpark time of day.

He searched everywhere, but found no signs of her.

And then he did something he couldn't recall ever doing before for the sake of another person.

He began to dread.

In terms of everyone else on the planet, he didn't care who got caught and who got killed, who succeeded and who failed. But he cared about that girl.

He began to dread she'd been too hurt to move, that she'd starved, that someone had found her and taken advantage of her weakness. There were people who weren't above killing the homeless and those down on their luck, and if she'd been too injured to protect herself that could've sealed her fate.

He hated this. He hated the knot it put in his stomach. This was why he'd stopped caring about others a long time ago.

But now somehow he'd allowed it to happen again, and he hated it.

After all, that's what it meant to be a solo crime boss. He had a few henchmen, a few lackeys here and there, but never anyone he actually gave a rat's ass about. With no one for him to care or worry about he could focus on efficiency.

But now it was all gone down the sludge-filled drain.

He felt weak just in thinking about her.

He knew he should give up, that he shouldn't have even bothered with her in the first place. But some part of him couldn't simply forget her and move on. He needed to know what had happened to her.

He searched for her for several more days throughout the sweltering city, glimpsing the nooks and crannies and dark corners he knew her to like so much.

But it was the same result. Nothing. Not even a remnant strand of loose pink hair.

Pursuing her was what made him realize how long it had been since he'd had something other than his work to take interest in. She was a reward for him, something fresh and new and curious.

And now that she was gone he had nothing to look forward to other than the next robbery.

So he returned to his warehouse meetings and covert radio calls, planning the next hit with the local goons.

He'd lost track of how many days had passed since he last saw her.

If anything, he was glad to see the ice cream shop drawing in nothing but pitiful crowds now, not even half of what it had used to see. He allowed himself to be smug for that.

* * *

Before long, the heat wave was interrupted by a sudden and heavy rainstorm.

The day was dark and dreary, passing cars spraying citizens in the streets and sidewalks, rickety gutters overflowing and splashing down, tiny torrents of floodwater heading for the sewers.

Roman was cooped up in a meeting all day, showing his current team of bandits a map of the city and where they were going to strike during the next operation. When he dismissed them it was with relief.

He stuck close to the buildings as he walked, the overhangs and his hat allowing him to stay relatively dry. He wasn't even aware of where he was going until he found himself outside the now-desolate ice cream shop. The owner was inside hunched over the counter with his head in his hands, lamenting lost business. Roman gave a devilish grin.

And that was when something caught his eye.

Past the speeding cars and splashing water and people racing for shelter, something stirred in the bushes across the street.

It was strange really. There was no good reason for him to be able to notice such a small flicker of movement in such a bustling city with the rain pelting down.

The only reason he saw it was because some part of him had never stopped looking.

Something inside of him revived at the sight of her, waterlogged as she may be, scurrying through the bushes to seek refuge in the park gazebo across the street. Though the roof shielding her now hardly mattered considering how drenched she already was.

But Roman didn't care about all that. Seeing her again filled him with a sense of excitement and urgency.

He dug into his pocket and pulled out several counterfeit coins and bills, things that were child's play for someone in his department to procure. They were facsimile to the real thing, impossible to detect the differences with the naked eye. Only the most expensive scanners could figure out the difference, and he was confident this sorry excuse for a shop didn't have those at the ready.

He pushed the door to the shop open, startling the man at the counter. Roman held his head high as he saunter through, keeping quiet, eyeing everything with mild yet ravenous interest. It was a tactic to unsettle, and it was working wonders.

The man behind the counter didn't even greet him - a failure in conduct and common courtesy that ensured he deserved the fake bills and nothing more.

Roman prowled up to the counter like a lone wolf about to pounce and gave a smile to match.

"Top o' the mornin, sir. Now, I couldn't help but notice that business isn't exactly boomin' today, and being the gentleman I am I've decided to help ya out a bit. Isn't that swell of me?"

The owner said nothing, but merely looked up at him with dread, as if some part of him knew what kind of man Roman was, what he could do...

"I'll be taking one of those fancy cones," Roman said. "The what's it called... Neopolitan. With all three scoops. Large." He dropped the fake money onto the counter, and the man's eyes swallowed it, though as he moved to prepare the ice cream his hands trembled.

Roman waited, leaning over on the counter, tapping his cane impatiently as the rain hissed outside. When the man finally turned around and handed him the ice cream it was a soundless exchange. Roman took the cone and sighed.

"Not even a 'here you go sir,' or a 'thank you kindly, valued customer'? Honestly, the lack of hospitality is just _wretched_."

He straightened up and made a move to exit, but before he took so much as a step he turned back. He did this in the way only a crime boss can turn, his face hidden by the shadow of his hat, one eye glaring acidly over his shoulder, harshly enough to curdle dairy.

"Oh. And I just so _happened_ to witness what went on here the other day. Pushing down a poor little girl trying to pay for a snack. If you'd accepted, you would've been one lucky bastard. But now you're at the bottom of the food chain, buddy. Hope you're prepared for the consequences."

And with that he turned back to the door and walked out, leaving the ice cream shop more chilled than if a blizzard had passed through.

As he emerged into the rain, Roman was careful to shield the ice cream as much as possible. He kept it close to himself so the rim of his hat could provide some dryness, then tucked his cane under his arm to let his free hand block the cone from the wind. He checked across the street, scanning the gazebo for a familiar shadow, found it huddled against the darkest corner...

He made his way across the street without even looking, his boots clomping through puddles and streams as he quickened his pace.

Before long he was running, not wanting to lose her this time. Not again.

She must've spotted him coming closer, because no other person in their right mind would be heading her way in this rainstorm. He glimpsed the dual-colored flash of her eyes and saw the fear once again.

When their eyes met she gave him a hunted look, but there was something else as well.

Resolve. But not to flee.

She was curled up on the gazebo bench with her knees pulled to her chest, small and shaking.

Her resolve wasn't to run. It was to accept her fate.

She was too exhausted to run anymore. He could see it in her eyes.

And he could tell by the way she was hiding her arm it was probably broken.

That would explain why he hadn't seen her recently. To a lone thief, a broken arm was as debilitating as a broken leg. Maybe she could still run, but she could only grab half of what she'd used to, and she'd probably dropped half of that as she'd fled.

She'd always been small, but this was just criminal. As he reached the gazebo and stepped underneath, he realized just how pitifully small she truly was.

His body just about filled the entire entrance way, and yet if she'd wanted to she easily could have slipped past him with room to spare.

But she just didn't want to anymore.

Coupled with the weak acceptance in her eyes was defeat.

She was too hurt, too scared, too tired to fight anymore. She didn't know who he was, but she knew he'd been watching her. And she didn't know if he meant to kill her or do something worse, but it didn't matter anymore. She didn't have the strength to resist. All she could do was curl up more tightly in hopes to delay the inevitable.

Roman didn't move for a moment. He simply looked her over, ragged and wet and withered, like an injured animal in the shadow of a predator. The filthy dress was drenched and clinging to her gaunt arms. Her broken arm dangled at her side, and the other she had clutched protectively across her stomach, a stomach that yowled in its vacancy.

It was surreal for him. The specimen – no – the girl he'd been observing all these weeks, the tough little thing he'd come to admire and pity was now a helpless child with a broken arm.

And he could see it in her eyes that her spirit was about to break as well.

For whatever reason, he felt somehow responsible.

He couldn't care less about most people down on their luck; it'd been their own damn faults most of the time, from what he'd seen. But she was the only exception.

He wanted to know more. He wanted to _learn_. For the first time in so many years he was curious about someone else.

He took a step forward and the girl recoiled, pressing herself as far back against the support of the bench like a mouse cornered by a cat. He stopped immediately and moved back again.

"Poor kid," he muttered. "The hell happened to you?"

He didn't really expect a response, so he wasn't surprised when he didn't get one.

But there was a bit of a reaction from her. Her eyes widened just a little at his tone, the soft, pitiful tone she wasn't used to hearing from grown men. She'd heard it a few times in the past, usually from old ladies who might toss her a coin here or there.

But that had been before when she'd been foolish enough to let people take note of her. Now she hid and no one noticed. And the one time she'd revealed herself, walked up to the counter to buy a legitimate product, it had gotten her a broken arm.

She hadn't eaten in days because of that, because she'd let people see her, because she'd trusted they might care...

Roman saw the contemplation in her eyes, the warring want to run and the want to stay. Or perhaps it wasn't a desire to stay, but a necessity. She didn't seem like she had the strength to run anymore.

Her stomach moaned again, louder than the hiss of the rain, and the girl turned her head, as if willing him to do whatever he'd come to do. Rob her, beat her, maim her, murder her. In spite of his unthreatening words she still didn't trust him. She didn't even remember what trust was anymore.

He couldn't blame her. This world was pretty shitty, and it was shittiest to people down on their luck like her. That was probably part of what drew him to her.

Roman moved carefully, making his steps light and maintaining his distance. He moved so he was standing in front of her again, until her eyes were back on him. He tapped his cane to indicate he wanted her to keep looking at him, and then he extended his right hand.

It seemed she hadn't even noticed the ice cream before, and only now that he was offering it did she acknowledge it. He saw the hunger in her expression, the twitch of her lips, the faint flicker in her eyes.

If she was still strong enough to react and be hungry, then she hadn't completely resolved herself to death just yet.

She wasn't foolish enough to lunge for the offered food and risk a trap, even in spite of her hunger and her love of the ice cream in particular. She wanted to, that much was clear, but she still valued her life enough to be cautious. Her stomach growled louder than the rain and she bit her lip.

Roman stayed perfectly still, keeping the food offered out to her, crouching his posture to make himself appear a little less threatening. He watched her as she watched him.

Her eyes mainly stayed on the food, but every other second she'd flick her mismatched gaze up to his face, and then down at his cane. He understood.

Very slowly, he leaned his cane against the bench and let go of it, indicating he had no intentions of using it or tricking her. He noticed her defensive posture uncurl just a little. Her stomach growled again.

"C'mon," he urged. "It's all yours. Promise."

It was like he was making up for the previous promise he'd made to her, even though she hadn't heard or had any reason to oblige by it. She blinked and met his eyes again, a slight snarl or warning on her lips. He simply shrugged and moved the ice cream closer.

It was wet with raindrops by now and was sagging a little, but the color and the crispness were still there. Irresistible to a starving child.

Finally, after all of her wariness, the girl reached out her shaking hand.

Had the other arm not been injured, he could envision her grabbing with both hands in her sheer desperation. But for now the one small hand extended, the skinny fingers trembling.

Roman didn't budge. He waited, perfectly still, until her fingers finally made contact with the cone. He maintained his grip on it until he could feel that hers was strong enough not to let it slip. Only then did he let go and withdraw a pace.

She was frozen in place for a moment, as if she still wasn't certain this was reality. She flashed him a look swirling with excitement, hunger, and a need for permission. He just nodded.

And with that the girl brought the ice cream close to her lips and gave a timid lick.

Within seconds she was all but scarfing it down, taking in mouthful after mouthful, biting into the cone whenever she could. She ate not only with the fervor of someone starved, but also with the swiftness of someone fearing the giver might change their mind.

She finished the food as quickly as possible, so the offer couldn't possibly be redacted halfway through.

As she was licking the last drops and crumbs from her fingers, Roman slowly made his way to the bench. She watched him diligently now that she had the energy.

He sat down on the bench a few feet away from her and folded his gloved hands between his knees, leaning forward in an inquisitive sort of stance.

The girl didn't recoil this time, but she simply stayed where she was. Her expression now was more puzzled than untrusting.

Roman held her gaze for a moment, and he could see it in her eyes that she was willing to answer his questions in exchange for the treat. Or at the very least, that she was willing not to run off just yet. So he cleared his throat and started off with the basics.

"So where ya from, kid? Here in Vale? Or not from around these parts? Either way you know this city like a pro."

He waited for an answer, but all he received was a dip of her head as she looked to the ground. She didn't seem to be giving an answer. He went on.

"Where are your parents? Family? They leave you? I know they can be pretty shitty. It happens."

Again, she didn't respond. Not even a nod or a shake of her head, not even a glance. He sighed.

"How'd you end up like this? A pretty little thing like you out on the streets is just a shame. Not to say you don't do it damn well, though."

At that she actually looked up at him again, though her expression was unreadable. Roman scratched his head.

"All right, at least gimme your name or something."

And that time she met his eyes. He could see the want to repay him in hers, the desire to exchange the value of what had been given. But when she opened her mouth no sound came.

It puzzled him at first, but when she shook her head and dropped her gaze once again, he merely shrugged.

"That's all right. I'm not forcin' ya."

But he was sensing this was something other than the fact that she simply didn't trust him enough to speak. She was clearly past the stage of fear now and was even willing to repay him with answers. Yet she'd given him only silence. He had an inkling.

"Maybe it's rude of me. Apologies if it is, but can't ya talk?"

She didn't raise her head, as if in shame. Roman clapped his hands softly.

"Hey now, that's fine and dandy. There's plenty of people who can't talk, can't walk, can't read or write, can't see, can't hear. All sorts of "can't"s in this world, but that doesn't mean you shouldn't get to live the life you want, right?"

He tilted his head back to the ceiling of the gazebo, watching the rain falling along the sides.

"But you don't gotta tell me. I already know this isn't the life you wanted, right?"

When he looked back to her she'd raised her face and met his eyes with piercing ones. She didn't need to speak for him to know the answer.

"Course it isn't. As a kid I never wanted to be in this line of work, stealin' and cheatin'. But here I am, and I'm damn good at it. Know this place better than the back of my hand. And so do you."

Now she seemed a bit more intrigued. Wary still, of course, but intrigued. Roman got to the point.

"Say... why don't'cha come with me, kid? I could use someone like you. Quick, smart, sneaky. And from what I can tell you've got a useful semblance, don't'cha?"

Her brow furrowed at that and he grinned a little.

"Yeah, you know I've kinda been spying, right? Apologies for the rudeness. I just couldn't keep away. Glad I didn't."

Silence fell for a moment as the rain patterned down. The fury of it had begun to fade, and now the hissing water turned into a faint misting sound.

The girl searched him with her eyes, and as she did this Roman was the one feeling nervous for a change. That was what made him realize just how desperately he wanted her to come with him, how drawn he was to her, how intrigued and curious.

How lonely he was.

For some reason, this felt like his only chance. So he asked again.

"Whaddaya say? Come with me. We'll get revenge on this no-good town. We'll take back what's rightfully ours. They had the chance to accept us, but that time's come and gone. Now we're taking it into our own hands."

He offered out his right hand to her, an invitation even a girl with no voice could accept or reject.

A long moment drifted by as the rain continued to trickle. Her eyes glazed over with memories he could never even begin to comprehend.

He simply waited as she remained perfectly still.

Watched as she moved her right arm.

Felt it as her hand slid into his.

For the first time in a long time he smiled.

And it wasn't one of those business smirks either.

Gently, he curled his fingers over the back of her hand.

"You sure?"

She looked into his eyes and gave a clear nod. He mirrored the motion.

"Hey, that's great, kid. That's real swell. But if we're gonna be partners in crime, I need a name."

She bit her lip and looked away again, her brown hair falling over the front of her shoulder as she turned her head. A few strands of pink followed, and that's what got him thinking.

He glanced back across the street to the ice cream shop, where the promotional posters were still in the windows. Without even really thinking he uttered the word.

"Neopolitan."

The girl perked up and looked back to him, clearly interested in the name of her favorite treat, the one and only thing she'd ever try to purchase legitimately in this godforsaken town. Her hair and eyes and dress were all the right colors. It was an easy decision.

"Neopolitain, huh? Sounds like a good name for you, kid."

He left the offer hanging on the air for her.

And she couldn't accept quickly enough. She squeezed his hand and nodded, and when he next saw her mismatched eyes there was a sparkle in them. And her lips had almost curved up a little at the corners. He chuckled.

"All righty then. It's decided. Then shall we head back to my place... Neo?"

The girl gasped at the sound of her new name. It was a small, thin little sound that comes with having no voice, but there was somehow so much excitement in it. She nodded.

Roman grinned and stood, supporting her frail weight as she staggered to her bare feet. One of his first orders of business would be getting her some shoes, some new clothes, some more food...

But for now...

He kept his right hand with hers until she could stand on her own, then only let go to remove his trench coat. This he draped over her small shoulders, carefully as not to invade her space in a frightening manner. The material of his coat felt so heavy now that he was placing it on her, but she didn't sway.

Next he removed his hat and placed it on her head. When she looked up at him curiously he just shrugged.

"Didn't bring an umbrella."

And this time she actually did smile.

Roman picked up his cane and looked the girl – Neo – over one last time. The coat and hat seemed to swallow her, but also seemed cozy. He cleared his throat and turned toward the threshold.

"Well then, shall we m'lady?" He offered his hand once again.

For a moment she simply adjusted to the weight and warmth of the new clothes on her body, clutching the coat to her chest to both keep out the rain and conceal her injured arm.

But at his offer she stepped forward.

Carefully, but with more confidence now than timidness, Neo slipped her hand into his.

And it was strange as they walked back out into the rain together.

Because it was the first time either of them had walked next to someone else with smiles on their faces.

The rain washed away their footsteps, hiding their tracks in the grey city, a city that from today onward they would take their revenge on and face together.

Starting from here, from now, they were heading toward a new future.

* * *

 **A/N: I'm so glad the few people reading this are enjoying the writing style! It's been a while since I've gotten to use this kind of style and I had a ton of fun doing it! I always liked writing Roman (the few times I'd done it), but this time he gets an entire story and I love it.**

 **This seems like a good nice place for an ending, so if you like it, you can just stop here! However, if you want to know a bit more of their story, look forward to chapter 4!**

 **Please review!**


	4. Profound Refuge

**I know I keep saying it but I really did love writing for this story from this perspective, about this topic. It was so fresh and fun for me. I hope you enjoy ch4!**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own RWBY.**

* * *

Chapter 4. Profound Refuge

The rain shrouded the alleyways in a thin mist, gutters overflowing and spilling down into crevices of the cracked and dirty sidewalks.

Roman was sure to keep the girl out of range of the spray, guiding her with a wave of his cane or a tap on her good shoulder. He was very cautious with contact, only reaching out when it was absolutely necessary to prevent her from getting soaked.

Due to her condition, he was made to travel at a very controlled pace, his cane tapping the cement in a pattern with his boots.

In contrast to his own heavy footfalls, Neo's bare feet barely made a sound on the pavement. Even when she stepped in a puddle there was hardly a splash. If not for the glance of his own hat and trench coat draped over the huddled form in the corner of his eye, he might've assumed she'd bolted off with how quiet she was.

It was just another aspect that had sculpted her perfectly for the life she led. She left no impression, not footsteps. If she was there, no one would notice, and if she disappeared no one would remember.

It was a lonely existence, but one that had proven well for her.

Roman continued to lead her back through the rain. She'd have the privilege of being the first person to know his true place of residence, his hideout of hideouts.

He constantly kept an eye out for anyone else, anyone who could be tailing them purposefully or otherwise just happen to be glancing their way. But in this weather they were the only ones in their wrong mind to be out here.

He paused once again when he noticed she'd stopped, shivering as she clutched the coat over her chest. He refrained from touching her, waiting until she looked up at him with those mis-colored eyes.

"Not much farther now." He waved his cane in the intended direction.

After a moment she shook herself off and stepped up beside him, and they continued their journey.

In spite of the clothing he'd provided for her, she was already soaked through. And of course the same could be said for him. He felt like a wet dog with his hair limp and dripping, his shirt and pants heavy and waterlogged.

He couldn't remember the last time he'd ever allowed himself to be in this condition, especially not for someone else's sake. It was humiliating and humanizing. And yet a small fraction of him glimmered with pride.

At long last the designated warehouse was in sight. The building was dilapidated and crumbling at the sides, and several demolition signs had been posted around the premises. Of course he'd stolen and placed them himself in order to keep people off his property.

He coaxed Neo in through a hole in the outer wall, then ducked after her to follow into the shelter.

The place was barren and dark, but it was dry. The only objects present were a few barrels and boxes lining the far corners. He made sure to keep the place vacant and uninteresting to the few morons who did ignore the signs and decide to trespass.

Now the hissing of the rain echoed unthreateningly outside as they made their way across the empty space. Naturally this wasn't all he had to offer her. But when he glanced down she seemed to be ecstatic already just in being out of the rain.

It made him wonder how many storms she'd spent without at least half a roof over her head in the past. If he had anything to say about it, she'd never have to experience that again.

At last he led her to a door in the far wall, which was perfectly constructed and sturdy, unlike the wall on the opposite side to ward of the unwanted. He fished out a key from his pocket and put it to the knob. The door opened with a heavy creak and led to a staircase. He tugged on a string and a dim bulb flickered on to illuminate the path.

Once Neo had stepped in, he closed and locked the door behind himself and waved his hand toward the stairs.

"After you."

She looked up at him with puzzled eyes. Clearly she'd thought the warehouse had been all he'd had to offer, and she was shocked at the prospect of more. With a slight nod she made her way to the stairs, releasing her grip on the trench coat to instead hold onto the support railing.

He shivered just in watching her bare feet make contact with the cold metal, but it didn't seem to bother her.

He followed her up the steps one by one, keeping an eye on her balance to make sure she didn't slip. When they reached the top it was another door, which he pulled out another key for. This was the door he was proud to open.

It revealed a rather spacious and modern apartment, complete with a small couch, coffee table, and television set in the main room, a kitchen area, a bathroom, and a bedroom with space for a desk and study.

As he turned on the light and let her in, he observed Neo's reaction. Her eyes widened, and her lips parted in a silent gasp. He plucked the wet hat off her head and hung it on a hook.

"Not too shabby, eh? I do all right in my line of work. But ya gotta promise not to tell. You're the only other person in Remnant who knows about this place."

He gave a crooked smile and put a finger to his lips. He wasn't sure if he meant it as a bit of a joke, since as far as he knew she couldn't talk. But either way she smiled a tiny smile and nodded.

"All righty then," he went on. "You're welcome to the shower, little lass. I'll hunt around and see what I can find for you to wear for the night. Bathroom's that-a-way."

He gave her a nudge before heading toward his bedroom. There was only a dresser and a closet since he didn't have terribly many clothes, but he was confident he could find a thing or two for her.

From the corner of his eye he watched the bundle of wet trench coat hobble into the bathroom. She shed the coat outside and hung it up on the doorknob, revealing the dirty dress and broken arm underneath. That was another matter of business he needed to get to.

As the bathroom door closed with her inside, he had to wonder when the last time she'd seen or used a toilet, sink, or shower was.

He took a moment to exchange his own damp clothing for casual pants and a shirt, leaning his cane against the wall before retreating to the closet. He pawed through the suits and coats until he finally hit the jackpot.

Believe it or not, he had entertained a few ladyfolk in the past, or in most cases had simply fantasized about bringing them home. So he did have one woman's-cut sweater all the way to the side.

He pulled it out and smoothed it a bit, already imagining how nicely the light pink color would look on his newest guest. And being she was so petite in stature, it would suit her more as a dress or night gown.

Satisfied with his findings, he returned to the bathroom where he could now hear shower water running. He gave a soft knock.

"Neo, dear? I've found something you can wear. I'll hang it on the door." He removed his trench coat and put the sweater in its place for her to retrieve at her leisure. "And do call if you need anything." She was showering with a broken arm, after all. Which was next on his list.

As he tossed the trench coat into a guiltily-full laundry basket (yes, even a crime boss needs to wash his linens), he headed for the kitchen.

He didn't exactly have a med kit on-hand, but in his line of work scuffles and injuries weren't uncommon. He managed to scrape together a few sturdy pieces of cloth which he tied together to make a longer one that would suffice as a sling. He laid it aside on the counter, then got to cooking.

And yes, he could cook too. Well, depending on who you asked, the skill was debatable, but he knew enough.

He stuck to the basics, just some bread slices and fillings for a basic sandwich. He filled it with whatever he could just to get some food in this girl. Lettuce, cheese, ketchup, bacon, until it was more of a pseudo-hamburger.

He shrugged and made one for himself, and decided it wasn't half bad for him, which meant a starving street kid would probably be enamored.

The shower water stopped and the place was quiet again. The rain could be heard very faintly from outside, but only now did he realize how unnerving the silence might be to her. He went into the living room and turned on a little old radio he'd pocketed from the local antique shop.

It started playing staticy old swing music, which he had to admit he had a liking of. He let it play and was on his way back to the kitchen when the bathroom door opened.

She stepped out dressed in the pink sweater, which was more of a dress on her as anticipated. It went almost down to her knees, as far as her wet curly hair did.

But in spite of the evident gleam of water and the limpness of her arm, she looked like a different girl.

The layers and layers of dirt and grime that had built up on her skin had been clumsily cleansed away with a bar of soap and warm water, revealing pale, pearl-white skin. He'd been half-expecting her to be tan due to her excessive time spent in the sun, but her pallor was that of a swan's.

Her brown and pink hair was dark with wetness, but not the unpleasant wetness of rain. It was the soft, tired wetness of a warm shower in a kind stranger's home. Not that he'd call himself kind. But then again, it wasn't just _pity_ either.

He now noticed she was looking up at him questioningly, as if asking if the clothes were okay. He smiled.

"Looks great on ya, kid." His eyes traveled down to her bare feet and he paused. "Oh, wait one sec. I'll be back in two shakes." He hurried back to the bedroom, pulled out a clean pair of socks and returned to her. "All yours."

She looked up at him like a confused puppy, and he had to wonder if she'd ever even _seen_ socks before. But then he realized it was less of the issue of her not knowing what they were and more of not knowing how to get them on with only one hand.

He ran a hand through his hair and ushered her to the couch. She was almost tentative in sitting down, as though not wanting to let her weight put an impression in the cushions.

Roman took the socks back and waited for her to lift her foot. He slid one on for her, over childishly small feet and skinny legs. They went halfway up her shins, and everything about the apartment in general seemed too big for her.

It was strange in that moment, though. Stranger than all the others.

Roman helped her with the socks as effortlessly as if he'd been doing it his entire life, and this hadn't been the first time. There was an odd prickle in his gut, and he couldn't tell if it was good or bad.

He'd never wanted kids of his own, or if he had he hadn't had the time or career to handle them with. But somehow he was good at this stuff.

He sat back proudly before getting to his feet again.

"There, all set. How's it feel?"

He watched for her response as she shifted on the couch, wiggling her toes inside the socks. She looked up to him and mouthed the words "thank you."

It was the first time she'd done something like that, actually made an effort to speak instead of just nodding or shaking her head.

It confirmed his suspicions that she was mute at the very least. Luckily he knew a bit of sign language and figured he could teach it to her if she didn't already know.

But that was for another time. Right now he had a few other surprises for her. He grinned.

"Yer welcome. Now come into the kitchen here."

He offered his hand and she willingly took it, adjusting to the feeling of the socks separating her bare feet from the carpet as she stood. She followed him into the kitchen and paused when he held up a finger.

He went for the fabric first, glancing at her bad arm and making a silent offer. She bit her lip, but it was far too late for untrustworthiness. She turned herself, allowing him access to her limp left arm.

He crouched beside her and carefully began to wrap the sling around her shoulder, gently bending her arm at the elbow so it could rest at a comfortable position. The music helped soothe the slight awkwardness in the air, but even so he felt inclined to speak.

"Don't you worry. I gave that ol' geezer what for. Won't happen again, not while I'm around."

She turned her face, eyes wide and puzzled, her free hand flashing in some quick signals he wasn't sure he understood. But he could guess.

"Yeah. Hate to admit it and sound like a creep, but I had my eye on you, kiddo. I knew you were onto me, though. Just couldn't help myself."

She blinked, then gave something as close to a shrug as she could manage, something that was indifferent but not in a bad way.

He finished tying the fabric, ensuring it was secure enough to hold the weight of her arm (not that it was much), before getting to his feet.

"All right one last thing."

He ushered her to the counter and she followed like a duckling after its mother. As soon as he presented her with the sandwich she made a sound somewhere between a whimper and a gasp. Her mouth opened as a rush of inaudible words started pouring out, her right hand signing at the same time. Roman chuckled.

"Easy there. It's my pleasure. Wouldn't be much of a gracious host if I didn't whip up a little something for my guest, right? I may be into organized crime but I'm still a gentleman."

And for the second time she cracked a smile, and had she had a voice he knew she would've been laughing. But as far as he was concerned she didn't need a voice. He liked the silent laughter.

She accepted the food and bit into it with the vigor expected of a formerly-homeless girl, gobbling it up as quickly as possible and then licking each finger diligently. He picked at his more slowly, already making plans for breakfast tomorrow.

"Still hungry?" he wondered. But she shook her head, sending locks of brown-and-pink hair over her shoulder. He finished his food and cleared his throat. "All righty then, how's about a quick tour of the place? I take it you already know what room is where, but if you're gonna be stayin' here from now on you need to know the whole kit 'n caboodle."

But before he could go on, he noticed she had stiffened a little. She signed something awkwardly with her one hand but he couldn't decipher it. When he shook his head she tried something else. She pointed at herself then motioned to the whole apartment with an expression of confusion.

Roman had been refraining from touching her if it wasn't necessary thus far, but now he reached out to gently pat her head.

"'Course I mean it. I said I was takin' you under my wing and I meant it, kiddo. Mi casa es su casa." She tilted her head. He withdrew his head. "Sorry, guess it's not a saying for everyone. What I mean is this is your place now as much as it's mine, so long as you want it. Yer gonna be working with me now. You'd be a big help with your skill, your cunning, and I still need to figure out how exactly that semblance works."

She blinked, and her eyes switched colors. When he reached out to pat her head again he found himself touching nothing. He whirled around to find she'd ended up behind him somehow.

"Hey now, that's a pretty nifty one! Definitely something you can exploit if yer workin' with me. I could definitely use your help. We're gonna get back at this no-good city together. And that means you need a place to stay, food to eat, clothes to wear, and training to start. Once you get your strength back of course."

She continued to stare up at him, as if she hadn't believed he'd really meant it, or if she did then she didn't believe it meant she actually got a share of the profits in terms of shelter and food. He couldn't blame her for not believing it, but he'd give her all the time she needed in that regard.

"Anywho, the pantry's over here," he said, tapping the cabinets. "There's not much, but there's always something in here. You can have whatever you want, anytime you want, so long as you restock it or lemme know so I can.

"Restock it with what, you may ask? Why anything, my dear. Whatever goodies or snacks you may find, whether you're stealing a gourmet box meal from a supermarket or taking candy from a baby. Anything goes in this house."

He straightened up a bit and smoothed his hair a bit. "Of course I have a good deal of money. But I prefer not to spend it if I don't have to. And honestly, I really don't have to. Not with you around. You could steal the words right outta my mouth if you tried! Between the two of us we'll never have to buy another cracker! Why the hell should we support the miserable people who run this economy? I want no part in it, no sir!"

Neo nodded in agreement. A slight fire had sparked in her eyes, one of rightful anger, of someone who had been wronged all their life. They really were kindred spirits. Roman put a hand on her back and slowly turned her around.

"But we'll have plenty of time to talk about all of that. For now we have something much more important to do."

He directed her to the only room she hadn't stepped foot in yet. He paused at the threshold of the bedroom and spread out his arms invitingly.

"Sleep! It's the second most important thing after money, and maybe after food too, I guess." He nudged her a step forward. "It's all yours tonight, kiddo! Don't worry, I'm takin' the couch. I'm not one of those. Luckily for you I just did the laundry last night so everything's spiffy clean. Immaculate. Scout's honor."

He knew this was probably a lot for her, so he didn't rush her. She looked from the bed to him and back again, jaw agape and eyebrows furrowed as if she really couldn't comprehend it.

She was used to sleeping curled up in dirty alleyways, on litter-ridden concrete and stained sidewalks, oftentimes defenseless against the elements. No blankets, no pillows. Never anything to shield her from wind or insects or the sharp cold pang of stone through the thinness of her dress.

The prospect of a bed was foreign to her, to the point where she simply couldn't fathom the idea of one being offered to her now.

The tears started falling, and for the first time she could ever remember it wasn't because of pain or sadness or hunger. Her stomach was full, her arm was in a sling, and perhaps her wounded heart was beginning to mend, stitch by stitch.

The tears fell silently and with inaudible gasps in between them. Roman almost didn't notice until he looked down at her and noticed her shoulders shaking. Heat rose to his ears. Perhaps his biggest flaw was that he never knew what to do when a woman cried, and especially not a girl.

"H-Hey, kid? Everything okay? Your arm hurt?"

But before he could continue the string of questions, she gave her answer. She turned and threw her only good arm around his waist, burrowing her face into his shirt as she wept silently.

Roman froze as if the contact had stunned him. He wasn't sure what surprised him more; the fact that she'd initiated contact with him – and a hug at that – or the fact that she was grateful enough for his taking her in to break down crying.

He couldn't remember the last time someone had given him a hug. Perhaps it sounded lonely and childish, but now that it was happening he couldn't stop himself from lightly draping his arm across her back. He couldn't stop himself from smiling again.

"You're welcome, kiddo. My pleasure."

She wept for a few more minutes, until the overall relief and exhaustion had worn her down. She eased back, looking up at him with watery mis-matched eyes, bottom lip quivering.

There was so much in her eyes in that moment.

The culmination of unspeakable pain and agony she'd suffered for however long she'd been suffering, the gnawing hunger and debilitating thirst.

The confusion and the anger of someone who had been so unrightfully wronged by this world, the want for revenge but the helplessness to save herself.

And then the relief, the longing to portray gratitude – to him – for what he had done, what he was still doing, for her.

It was the longing to give thanks to the person who had spared her from certain death, even when she'd been on the verge of accepting such a fate.

She tried to say it. She really did. She mouthed the words over and over again, and her throat trembled with the effort to produce the sounds necessary to give voice to her gratitude. Only a rasp came out, but it was more than enough for him. He rested his hand atop her head again and ruffled her hair softly.

"I said you're welcome. You can thank me by doin' what we'd agreed on, helpin' me get revenge on this no-good town. We start tomorrow. I've got a dress barn in mind I'd like to visit to pick you up some new clothes. Of course we won't be payin'."

This time when he smirked she tried to mimic the gesture. She even revealed her teeth a bit. It was devilishly charming.

"All righty, it's a deal," he said. "But for tonight the orders are just to rest up."

She wiped her eyes and nodded, signing something with her right hand, but Roman shook his head sheepishly.

"I'm not too good with all that yet. Been a while since I had to learn. I'll start practicin' tomorrow."

She nodded and lowered her hand, but did her best to mouth the words instead.

And he understood perfectly.

 _'Good night.'_

He couldn't remember the last time he'd heard those words. Or at least _seen_ them on someone else's lips. Either way, the sentiment was much appreciated.

"Night, kiddo. If there's anything you need tonight just gimme a kick."

He turned and left her at the doorway, letting her enter the bedroom at her leisure. As he headed to the couch he could feel her gaze on his back. He turned back to give her a wave.

"See ya in the mornin', Neo."

Instantly the smile returned to her lips, twice as bright as the last two times he'd seen it combined. With that she twirled around and scampered into the bedroom.

He watched her through the open door as she approached the bed, paused, then slowly climbed her way up. It creaked slightly and she froze for a second before continuing. She was the icon of awkwardness, not at all used to the feeling of the soft, firm mattress beneath her, shifting her weight on her hands and knees to see if it would give. She looked like a baby polar bear teetering on a chunk of ice, assuming it would sway and break at any second.

Roman had to bite back a chuckle.

When she finally seemed comfortable enough to lie down, he was about to call out to remind her she could go underneath the blankets. But she crawled to the headrest and pawed them free before burrowing underneath on her own.

That led him to believe that she must've had a bed at one point in her life and remembered at least a bit of how they worked.

He watched her settle, now curled beneath the covers with only her long hair visible and pooling behind her. She didn't shift around or fidget, which led him to believe she was out in seconds.

He made his rounds quietly, turning off all the lights before retreating to the couch. He left the radio on and finally removed his boots, the laid down on his back with a long sigh.

"The hell am I gettin' myself into?"

He'd seen plenty of street rat kids before. Dozens. But he'd never been this drawn to any of them.

They'd all been weak, crybabies who went straight back home with the first police officer or soft old lady who found them. None of them had that fire in their soul, that anger, that defiance to survive.

This girl – Neo – she was something special.

She was smart, cunning, fierce.

She was one of a kind.

But he had to admit his interest in her was something beyond the want of a partner to assist him in his work. But it wasn't pity, either.

It wasn't any form of love, not fatherly protectiveness or the urge to look after a fellow human being.

It was something of a mix of all of that, and yet it was none of that.

He was simply drawn to her in a way that was profound. It was beyond words.

But that was all right for him, because it seemed the two of them didn't need words anyway.

He let his gaze slip from the ceiling back to his room where the bundle of blankets was still visible in the dark. He shrugged.

"Well, whatever. I can be satisfied with whatever this is. If she's happy, I guess I'm happy."

And being happy wasn't something he'd always concerned himself with. In fact, it was something he'd forgotten about long ago.

But now that it was back and he could recognize it, he certainly wasn't about to throw it away.

The staticy music continued playing. He closed his eyes, wondering if he'd wake up tomorrow and she'd be gone, if it will all have been just a strange dream. He couldn't remember the last time he'd dreamt.

But if all of this turned out to be one, he knew he wouldn't be satisfied with that.

Which was why he was only satisfied at daybreak when he pushed himself up from the couch and saw the bundle of blankets still curled up in his bed.

He smiled, knowing he'd done so more in the past several hours than he had in the past several years.

Groggily, Roman got to his feet and headed into the kitchen to start making breakfast for two.

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 **A/N: Believe me, I would've loved to write this entire story as a full-length detailed thing, but time and commissions are limited. There's just one more chapter to wrap it all up, but if you like happy endings, I suggest you just stop here.**

 **Also I know there's no such thing as Spanish in the RWBY verse (mi casa es su casa) but I just feel it's absolutely something Roman would say. Plus Jaune said "Gesundheit" in canon season 1, so there.**

 **Please review!**


	5. Epilogue - Solitude

**A wrap-up, now in the present (as of vol 5's) canon timeline.**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own RWBY.**

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Epilogue. Solitude

She still remembers all of it clearly.

As if it were only last week when he'd found her freezing beneath the gazebo, picked her up off the streets and taken her in.

She still remembers how she'd felt, the crushing nervousness coupled with the passionate curiosity.

She'd glimpsed him in passing, then sighted him more and more frequently until they'd wound up face-to-face.

She still remembers the fire he'd lit in her, not only in satiating her hunger, but in another way as well. She couldn't explain it then, but now she understood it.

He'd given her the companionship she'd never known she'd always wanted.

It was compassion, but not excessive fondness. Just the pat of his hand on her head or his coat around her shoulders. Gentle acts of kindness no other person had ever deemed her worthy of.

She still remembers that first morning when she'd woken up in his apartment, dazed and startled before she'd recalled her situation.

She remembers the first breakfast he'd made her, omelets and toast with strawberry jam with a cup of coffee.

She remembers him taking her out to go shopping for clothes, how she'd timidly selected each piece of her outfit and added it to the articles he was carrying.

She hadn't chosen a lot. She hadn't wanted to be too selfish.

But he'd paid for it all, the clothes, the boots – everything.

Of course he hadn't actually _paid_. As promised he'd started off getting back at the town with counterfeit money, and the shopkeep was none the wiser until days later, after the two of them were already lost in the wind.

She remembers getting dressed in the bathroom into those new clothes, how refreshing and new it had made her feel.

That's part of the reason why she'd tried her best not to change the articles she wore over the years. She would wash them, mend them, replace them if she had to, but only with facsimile pieces. Because they were another gift he had given her.

She remembers how he'd trained her, first in sign language, then in combat. That warehouse they'd called home had been plenty spacious with ample room for her to practice her skills. He'd taught her a good amount of hand-to-hand combat, which she could hold her own with if she had to.

But her semblance was and still is her biggest asset, and she'd often be able to avoid any opponent with a simple blink of her eyes.

She'd discovered and honed in on new skills, unlocked potential that had been hidden away for so many years until he'd come along and been the one to bother to challenge it.

She became unparalleled in her tricks, small-scale and large-scale.

She remembers the day he'd told her he had nothing left to teach her in terms of fighting that way, but then had suggested getting her a weapon of her own. Upon witnessing what other fighters used as their weapons, she'd instantly been able to decide what she wanted.

She'd crafted it herself, the same tool he'd given her so many years ago that cold rainy evening.

She equipped the umbrella with a blade and made it so that it was like a part of herself, an extension of her own body.

Everything she did echoed what he had done for her. She was always at his side.

Through countless shady business meetings, robberies, plots and plans of who to steal from, when and how much.

She was beside him through the fights with fellow thugs when violence broke out, which was not a rare occasion. She would defend him, protect him with the life he had given her, do anything and everything possible to get him out of harm's way. They'd always manage to limp home together somehow and collapse side by side on the bed.

When the huntsmen and huntresses started posing issues, she would fight them as well. She would fight the Grimm, the people, the elements. Anything for him. She'd always been there for him.

All but one time.

And that would turn out to be the only time that mattered.

The _last_ time.

After the fighting with the Beacon huntresses, she looked everywhere for him. Through the steaming ashes of his fallen air ship, through the masses of injured people bleeding through the streets.

She searched through all of Vale, through all of the alleyways and nooks and crannies she herself had ever hid in, hoping to find him. Even if he were injured, she just hoped to find _him_.

She never did.

She still hasn't.

Even now she searches.

Even though it's been years. She searches.

She searches all the places she'd already searched, hoping beyond hope he might show up where he hadn't before.

He never does.

But that doesn't stop her from looking. From hoping.

The people they'd worked with and for in their heists haven't come looking for her, and so she doesn't go looking for them.

She still goes home to his warehouse, his apartment, the place she'd been allowed to call home.

She still sleeps in his bed, prepares the meals he always had, listens to his radio.

And when it rains, like it is today, she always goes to the ice cream shop.

In every other sense, and every other store or restaurant or market, she still holds true to his beliefs of getting back at this no-good town. She still steals from these people, gives them bad money, does every subtle thing within her limited power to make their lives more difficult.

All except for this place.

She comes into the shop to take shelter from the light drizzle outside. The windows and walls are still decorated with colorful posters and images of ice cream. Ownership had changed, and instead of a nasty old man the person behind the counter who greets her is a young woman with kind eyes. She's clearly surprised to see business on this cold rainy day, but as soon as she recognizes the customer that shock disappears.

She must be used to her by now. She always comes when it rains.

And she wordlessly buys a cone of her namesake ice cream, and she pays with genuine money.

Only this place. This is the only place she'd ever known him to spend real money.

She accepts the cone with the three colored scoops and turns for the door. It's colder outside than it was inside, but she doesn't care. She heads for the gazebo across the street, vacant as always, and sits down in the very same spot where she'd once huddled in fear of him.

She eats her ice cream in a much different manner than she first did. There is no more desperation to satiate a starved stomach. Thanks to him.

Now she eats slowly, savoring every taste, every flavor, every memory of him.

She still believes he might come back. She still hopes he will.

Even long after she finishes the last bite of the cone she sits there. She sits and listens to the rain as it picks up, until it's pouring, pelting.

She doesn't move until she feels she has to, until she knows he would've come by now if he were ever going to.

She picks up her umbrella and opens it, to protect herself as he'd once done.

She holds it over herself now as she limps home, shivering.

Without the weight of his trench coat on her shoulders, or his hat on her head, or his warmth in her heart.

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 **A/N: Thanks to Tom once again for the opportunity to write this story. It's one of my favorites, I have to say. I had a great time theorizing and expanding upon Neo's and Roman's individual and shared backstory. I hope all my readers enjoyed.**

 **Please review!**


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